Page 38 of Escaping Pirates (Legends of Neverland #4)

T he scent of tar thickened with every breath, sticky and cloying as it caught in my throat.

I kept my mouth pressed up close to the small knothole on the side of the barrel, hands still cupped around it like a tunnel to the outside, drawing in tight, shallow sips of cleaner air.

Sweat slid down my spine to puddle at the barrel’s base and my legs cramped beneath me, but I didn’t move. I didn’t dare.

Dawn had already come and gone, but I hadn’t felt the ship set sail yet.

I gripped the flares between my knees and ignored the drips of tar that slowly seeped through the fabric overhead to drizzle onto my shoulders.

It was viscous enough that it would likely take two full days to drain through the fabric.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

My stomach spasmed. Tyrone was awake and greeting his crew.

“Croy, is the cargo inventoried?’

“Aye, Captain.”

“The ship ready to set sail?”

“Aye, Captain. ”

“The girl is still in her quarters?”

“I haven’t looked yet.”

Gil piped up. “I’ll go check! Can I go, please?”

“Sure, lad. Run and go check.” There was casual amusement in Tyrone’s voice, but there wasn’t a shred of amusement in my body. I was about to be sick.

Several moments passed while Tyrone called out standard orders, preparing to set sail.

Footsteps pounded the deck. “The girl’s gone! I checked her room, and the wash station and the kitchen!”

There was silence, then the explosion.

“What do you mean, she’s gone ?” A heavy thud rattled the boards outside my barrel. Something or someone had been struck. Had Tyrone hit Gil? Boots scraped roughly against the planks and the deck trembled.

“Find her, you incompetent fools!” Captain Tyrone's voice cracked like a whip. “She was locked in! She couldn’t have just vanished! Where was the watch? Who saw her last?”

Murmurs and stammered excuses followed.

A crash. A shout. Another blow.

I swallowed hard, the taste of tar bitter on my tongue.

“I was on the late watch, Captain,” a deep voice rumbled. “Bram fell asleep on his shift but the only one I saw during mine was Gil coming back, then he and Peter took the rest of my shift.”

“Gil! Did you see the girl? Why were you off the ship?”

“I was just getting the tar you wanted, Captain,” Gil squeaked in a perfect imitation of a frightened boy. “Look.”

Every muscle in my body seized with fright as the barrel’s lid was lifted to reveal the pool of tar suspended over my head .

“See? I heard that you wanted it, so I got it for you and came right back, but I didn’t see your girl.”

“Cover that back up! Bram!” Tyrone bellowed. “Sleeping on the job? What’s wrong with you?”

“An accident, captain. It won’t happen again.”

Tyrone let out a stream of foul oaths as Gil put the lid back on my barrel.

“She doesn’t care as much about him as I thought. Fine. Fine.” The air seemed to pulse with fury outside my hiding place. Then I heard it, the sound I dreaded most. The flare case was being unlocked and opened.

The following pause stretched long. And then: “ Where are my flares? ”

Boots scuffed. Another chest opened and a drawer slammed.

“She took them,” Tyrone muttered. His voice had become so controlled that it was unnerving. “Shetook the blasted flares.”

My palms were damp with sweat as I clutched the flares, only feet away from where Tyrone stood.

There was a short, humorless laugh. “She thinks she’s so clever.

Does she think she can get to the boy before me?

Fine. Let her find what’s left of him.” Then he shouted, “Get this ship moving. We sail now. And check everything. Every hold, every crate, everybarrel.If she’s still here, she’ll wish she wasn’t. ”

My heart punched against my ribs. The footsteps scattered. Orders were shouted and the sails above creaked to life.

I curled tighter, barely breathing, the tar pressing in on every side.

He was going for Harlan. It was what I should want, but now, all I felt was fear for his life…and for my own.

Around mid-day, when Tyrone had simmered down to a boil, Gil came and hopped up to sit on top of my tar barrel.

She gossiped away to the crew, cheerfully hypothesizing ways I might have escaped and predicting who would win the next fight.

The incessant chatter could easily have annoyed the crew, but instead it seemed to have an oddly calming effect, for them and for me.

Gil narrating everything made being trapped in a barrel slightly more tolerable.

Throughout the day, Gil would often say things like, “We sure seem to be making good time! If the wind keeps up like this, how long do you think it will be until we reach the Kraken’s Revenge ?”

I appreciated the running commentary, as it gave me some semblance of time passing and something to think about besides my current predicament.

I wished I’d thought to bring in food or a water skin, but my dread about what would happen once we caught up to Harlan would probably have hindered my ability to eat or drink anything.

Besides, after my months aboard Harsh’s ship, hunger was an all-too-familiar sensation for me.

Sweat dripped from my brow into my eyes, and every joint in my body ached from the hours of prolonged stillness, but I didn’t dare shift. We were nearly there. We had to be.

The deck around me creaked and echoed with hurried footsteps. The crew had spotted another ship. Was it the Kraken’s Revenge ?

“Can I get a telescope to look?” Gil asked, hopping off the barrel and going to the railing. “I think that’s the one!”

Then came the moment I didn’t expect.

There was a crash, a curse, and someone stumbled. Perhaps too many hands had been reaching for too few ropes, but whatever the reason, someone fell against the barrel. I had just enough time to realize what was happening before the world tilted.

The barrel lurched, then rolled.

I tumbled with it, arms flailing for balance, the stench of tar coating my skin and choking my lungs. The barrel slammed down the stairs, bounced once, and exploded apart at the bottom with a splintering crack.

I hit the boards hard. After the darkness of the barrel’s confines, the bright afternoon light stabbed my eyes and temporarily blinded me. The shattered remains of the barrel scattered and the flares tumbled down beside me.

The shouting stopped.

For half a breath, no one moved, and my cramped limbs protested the recent jarring movements.

Then someone cried, “It’s that girl!” at the same moment that Tyrone roared, “Elena!”

I scrambled upright, snatched the flares, and bolted. My shoes, slippery from the tar, slapped the deck, and I was slow and clumsy from being cramped for so long. Hands reached for me. Someone grabbed a fistful of my shirt, but I twisted free, the tar-slickened fabric slipping from his grasp.

Where was I even going? There was no way out. I had no way to set off the flares to alert Korth; it might inadvertently make Harsh think Tyrone set it off and was signaling for Harlan’s death.

I had reached the opposite end of the deck. Every eye was upon me as I cradled the flares close to my chest. I had to keep them safe. There was no other way to call Korth, but I couldn’t set the flares off now. Harlan’s life hung in the balance. I retreated until my back hit the bulwarks.

Tyrone approached, leering. He held out his hand. “What a pleasant surprise. Just hand me those flares now, and no one need get hurt.”

“No.”

He was getting too close. Gil and Peter were on the other end of the ship, doing nothing to help me. I was on my own. I might not be able to help myself, but I could help Harlan, at least in the short term. My chest heaved. I couldn’t, wouldn’t , allow Tyrone to set them off.

“Forgive me, Harlan,” I whispered, then hurled the flares into the ocean. No one would be coming to rescue us.

“No!” Tyrone screamed, lunging for the railing, but too late. The flares arced through the air, flipping end over end, before hitting the water with a splash. They bobbed for a moment, then were swallowed by the waves.

Tyrone skidded to a stop, his breath ragged and his face contorted with fury. “Stupid girl,” he spat, then backhanded me across the face so hard that I fell to the deck.

The crew watched in silence as Tyrone wrenched me to my feet and hauled me across the deck, my shoes scraping splinters from the planking. Tyrone's hand clamped hard around my upper arm, his other gesturing to the mainmast like it was a chopping block.

“Put her there,” he snarled. “We’ll make an example out of her, shall we?”

The crew hesitated then Gil stepped forward. “I’ll tie her up, Captain! I can do good knots.”

The rope was scratchy and sun-hardened. Gil looped it around my arms and the mast, her hands quick and efficient.

I stood as tall as I could, refusing to give Tyrone the satisfaction of a flinch.

Gil was supposed to be, maybe not my friend, but at least on my team.

Did she want me out of the picture so that she wouldn’t have to worry about my interfering or trying to claim the bounty?

She’d already collected on me; there was no reason for her to keep me around.

Gil’s face fell comically. “I feel bad tying her up, Captain,” she said. “She hasn’t ever hurt anyone.”

“She insulted me and destroyed my property, and I don’t take too kindly to that. Tie it nice and tight.”

Gil obeyed, cinching the knots behind me hard enough to bruise, then nodded, satisfied. “There. That oughta hold her.”

Then she walked away, back to her post, just a cheerful cabin boy again. So much for having an ally.

I stared at the ship in the distance. How would I ever rescue Harlan now?